


This One Goes Out To The One I Love

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: !2012 fest, -fic, -het, F/M, M/M, Rating: NC-17 - Freeform, character: dominique weasley, character: teddy lupin, pairing: dominique/teddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I’ve played fast and loose with a prompt. But seriously in my heart of hearts Teddy/Dominique is one of my OTPs. Also all the love to my CURI OF WIN who beta’d this for me! And the title comes from an REM song but you knew that, right? :D

**Title:** This One Goes Out To The One I Love  
 **Author:** [](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/)**crazyparakiss**  
 **Prompt:** _Dominique is too big a flirt, too much a slacker, too selfish to ever compare favourably to her older sister, but she sees a vulnerability in Teddy that everyone else has overlooked._  
 **Pairing(s):** Teddy/Dominique, Teddy/Others (mentions), Dominique/Others (mentions), Albus Severus/Scorpius (side pairing, they are the sidekicks cause you know who can resist), most all canon pairings.  
 **Word Count:** 18.2k approx  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warning(s):** Het sex, mentions of slashy innuendo, random teenage angst, blatant abuse of flashbacks.  
 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Notes:** As usual I’ve played fast and loose with a prompt. But seriously in my heart of hearts Teddy/Dominique is one of my OTPs. Also all the love to my CURI OF WIN who beta’d this for me! And the title comes from an REM song but you knew that, right? :D  
 **Summary:** _Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us._

  


>   
>  When Gran’s Kneazle dies Dominique is six and Teddy is eight—it’s Easter and she, Teddy, Victoire, Louis, Molly, Lucy, Roxy and Freddie are standing around as Uncle Harry carries the fat, fuzzy body to be buried in the garden. Each of them but Teddy cries. Uncle Harry pulls him aside and they speak quietly together. Uncle Harry pats him on the shoulder and Teddy smiles at him—in the way only Teddy can, crooked and without care.
> 
> It’s later when they are all sleeping in Uncle George’s old room that Teddy cries. Dominique wakes up and finds him sitting on the ground with his skinny arms around knobby knees. Everyone else is sleeping and so she carefully makes her way out of bed and down onto the floor with him.
> 
> “Teddy,” she whispers.
> 
> He stops sniffing and holds his breath, hoping she will return to the bed. However, she doesn’t. Dominique puts a small arm around his shaking shoulders and kisses his cheek. “It’s okay to be sad,” she says, mimicking what her father told her earlier in the day when they all stood around the grave Uncle Harry had made.
> 
> “Why do things die?” he asks. Dominique is too young to know the answer to that question but she tries to answer him regardless.
> 
> “Because everything has to.” She hugs him tighter. “Daddy says it’s normal.”
> 
> “But it makes me lonely,” he whispers as he turns to hug her back.
> 
> And she doesn’t know what to say, so she holds him while he cries into her hair.

 

Teddy wakes to the sun streaming against his closed eyelids. He’s got a killer hang over. Al kept him out to celebrate the contract Scorpius negotiated for Oliver Wood with Nimbus Racing Broom Company; apparently in spring there will be Wood Brooms all over the sky. There is a joke in there somewhere, Teddy knows, he’s just much too hung over to chuckle about it at the moment.

He sits up and kicks at the sheets which feel leaden and the duvet isn’t much better. Feet on the chilly wooden floors; Teddy swears. In the bathroom he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His stubble is as bright as his hair, and just as teal in colour—he’s still not quite sure how all of his facial hair manages to grow the same as the colour he prefers to keep on his head. “Morning sexy,” he grumbles to himself as he reaches clumsily for his toothbrush.

The shower is fuck cold and he shouts when it hits him.

Al rings him on his Mobile Mirror when he’s rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something to eat and a potion to swish down for his headache.

“Ted,” Al whispers against the glass, fogging it over as is his usual way.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be able to come by and help you organise your band list for the week and you set a menu with Louis since we both know what a buggering diva he is when it comes to being right.” Teddy nearly snorts, but manages to refrain. Louis acts as if he’s cooking in some Michelin Three Star when in fact he’s “head chef” of the dodgy pub Teddy’s gran left him when she died—it had been a bit of a family thing. Something his dead mum and granddad had invested in shortly before war broke out and had to put on hold due to that war. Harry’d kept it up financially because his gran had asked and now their dream is his life. But it’s still not a Three Star Michelin as Louis’d like to believe.

“Not whisking off for your yearly honeymoon with the gilded Malfoy prince?”

“I heard that,” Scorpius’s smooth drawl causes Teddy to smile.

“No, we celebrated quite a bit last night, and this morning,” Al replies with a lewd grin and Teddy rolls his eyes. “We’re not heading out for another week, if at all, Scorpius has another Quidditch contract to negotiate. Carol Hayes is supposed to re-sign with the Harpies but they’re trying to give her half of what she’s worth. If they don’t watch it the Foul Mouth’s will have her before Christmas.”

“What a lovely gift that’ll be.”

“James’ll definitely be full of malicious glee if that happens.”

“Terrible thought, that.”

Al chuckles. “So eleven?”

Teddy groans as he sets his mirror on the counter and rummages through the cupboards more aggressively. “You’re a slave driver, Al.” He doesn’t miss Al’s wicked grin or the salacious chuckle Scorpius creates. “Make it half twelve—you’ll need time to freshen up,” Teddy says with a grimace. He cannot decide if he is relieved or horrified when the connection on his Mobile Mirror is cut.

Having successfully lost his appetite he decides he may as well nap until noon.

 

> The summer before Teddy starts Hogwarts, they spend most days at Uncle Harry’s. Teddy’s got his own room there, which Dominique has always envied. She’d give anything to have a home away from home. They spend most days chasing gnomes around the garden and play pretend pirates, using the old tool shed Uncle Harry stores assorted lawn equipment in as a vessel with which to travel the rough seas.
> 
> At night they lie on the grass and stare up at the stars which dot the velvet expanse of sky. The owl Aunt Ginny named Helix soars through their view—he’s off for his evening hunt and Dominique swears she can hear the footfalls of numerous gnomes as they dive behind thick bushes, away from Helix’s sharp yellow eyes. She turns to giggle at Teddy and tell him the little pests are hiding, because Teddy will think it is funny, but forgets the words when his fingers lace with hers. His palm is a little sticky with sweat and possibly from the sweets they ate earlier, but it is warm and comforting nonetheless.
> 
> “I don’t want to go to school,” he says quietly and Dominique thinks he’s being ridiculous because she’d love to be in school.
> 
> “Why?” She’s watching his face—mostly she stares at his eyes which reflect the stars and she thinks he looks terribly afraid.
> 
> “I am going to miss you.” He says, “I don’t want to grow up.”
> 
> She kisses his cheek and says, “No one says you have to grow up—you just have to pretend.”

 

Louis is a right prick when he and Teddy go head to head over the menu. He’s not having gold lettering on _anything_ in his pub, not ever.

“What part of fucking simple do you _not_ understand,” Teddy says hotly when he throws the ridiculously posh looking menu at Louis.

“This _is_ simple,” Louis insists, and Teddy knows then he’s gone round the twist.

“Simple as in burgers, chips, fish—you know, fried, easy to kick out the kitchen, and loaded with salt to make the people _thirsty_ so that I might sell more drink!”

Louis wrinkles his nose and pulls a face as if that is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard—Teddy wants to tell him the stupidest thing he’s ever heard is foie gras being served in a rock music pub. However, he restrains himself—hiring Louis is a favour to Victoire, a stupid favour but one he’s got to stick with. At least until he can find a better chef, and by better he means a person who listens. Though fat chance of that—it’s been at least five years since he’s taken Louis on, and he’s not left yet.

Al comes in before their argument can come to blows and Teddy is grateful when he pushes out of his seat and says, “You talk to him—this is fucking ridiculous.” He mutters something about being the fucking boss and still not being in charge but by that point Al and Louis are diplomatically trying to solve the problem of the fucking posh menu. The menu Louis has changed ten times in the last half decade.

Out in the alley, at the back of the pub, Teddy lights a cigarette and rubs at his tired eyes—when he was twenty five recovering from a hangover was a fuck of a lot simpler than trying to recover from a hangover at thirty seven. “Fucking hell, I’m old,” he says with a grim smile. A bird’s shrill caw mocks him and he swears it says, _Thank you for stating the obvious._ Ruddy birds.

The air out here feels damp and smells a bit like wet rubbish, and now the scent mingles with his cheap tobacco—it’s god awful and Teddy hates it. Some days he’s not sure why he’s living this life. And damn if that isn’t a depressing thought as he stands here staring at the fading vibrancy of some punk’s graffiti.

In truth, he’s not sure how long he’s been out here, dwelling on regrets of paths not followed, when Al’s hand touches his shoulder. “Ted,” his deep voice breaks the spell of Teddy’s trance.

“Yeah?”

“Louis has agreed to something _simple and undignified_.” Al does a great impression of Louis, and it makes Teddy smile.

“Fucking pretentious French fucker,” Teddy says mutinously as he throws an arm around Al’s shoulder, “So how’d you get him to agree?”

“Told him I’d write his mother,” Al’s as evil as his smile is sweet—it’s brilliant.

 

> At Platform 9 ¾ she goes with Uncle Harry and Auntie Andromeda to see Teddy off—he’s a frightful jittery mess in his wrinkled white shirt. His thin legs are hidden in his usual worn denim trousers and his trainers are already scuffed despite their newness. Dominique giggles at his attire when he asks her how he looks.
> 
> “Like you just woke up,” she replies and brushes off noticeable bits of hair from his Crup. “You’re a piece of work.”
> 
> He rolls his eyes, “Stuff it.” Then he adds, low enough so as not to let Uncle Harry or his gran hear, “I’ll write you every day.” And he presses a quick kiss to her cheek, “I miss you already.”
> 
> She smiles. “Don’t, you’re going to make loads of friends.”
> 
> “You’ll always be my favourite.”
> 
> She follows the train when it pulls away and hopes Teddy doesn’t notice how hard she is crying.

 

Watching the young hopefuls on his stage makes Teddy miss playing horrid songs in shoddy pubs with his old mates. It’s been years since he’s properly held a guitar. His fingers feel stiff, he’s not even sure he could do it now if he tried. He frowns when the drummer loses his place and his notes quit syncing up with his band mates. They realise as well and sigh loudly while stopping.

“Right, stop, stop,” the guitarist pipes up when he’s quit, holding the sleek neck of his instrument in one hand he points at the boy. And then Teddy notices, the _boy_ —he can’t be more than fifteen.

“Wait,” Teddy says suddenly, standing and walking over to the stage, “How old is this bloke?” He jerks his head at the boy and the other members shrug.

“We met him today—our drummer cancelled on us due to a case of dragon pox so we picked him up outside—he said he could play,” the bassist glares at the boy over that.

“I can,” the boy shouts—going a little red around the ears, “I’ve just never really played with other people—still fairly new at this.”

“That’s all well and good,” Teddy says with a dry tone, “But how old are you, I can’t be letting kids play at my club without parental consent.” He chews his lip, and Teddy narrows his eyes. “Right, I’ll go with the second band then. Sorry mates, come back round when your drummer gets a clean bill of health from the Healers.”

They all stagger off, except for the young one. He’s fidgeting at the edge of the stage, holding onto his drumsticks as if they are the only thing keeping him from shouting in frustration. Teddy remembers being like that, once upon a time, in his youth. “Gonna stand there all day, are you?” Teddy finally says when he turns back to see the kid being awkward as hell.

“Er, uh, no—I,” he bites his lip, “I just haven’t got anywhere else to go.” His accent is strange—English, yes, but not. It’s too barely there and some of his tone is off, as if he’s foreign. Then he comes closer and thrusts his hand out to Teddy, and mentally Teddy winces while also congratulating himself on being right, “My name’s Toby—I’m kinda stuck here without any place to go.”

“Ah,” Teddy stays evasive. “Not from around these part, yeah?”

A deep breath is pushed of Toby’s mouth and Teddy notices a hoop at the side of his bottom lip when he smiles up at Teddy. “Not at all.”

“Got a place to stay?” Teddy asks as he waves the kid over to the bar.

“Um, not really,” he says, rubbing the back of his long, thin neck, “I kinda just arrived.”

“Right.” Teddy throws a dish flannel at him. “Can you clean dishes?”

“Uh-,” Toby starts but Teddy cuts him off with a clap to his shoulder.

“Excellent, you start this evening—in exchange I’ll feed you and give you room and board. If you suck you can slum it in the streets.”

“Wha-,” Teddy interrupts the floundering boy again.

“I’ve got a flat with a couple of spare rooms. Since it’s just me you can have one, yeah?”

Toby raises an eyebrow sceptically. “You aren’t a creepy pervert, are you?”

“No,” Teddy says with a laugh, “But it’ll ease my conscience if I keep you away from the perverts milling about London.”

 

> He writes her for the first few months, religiously, and as the months pass his letters come less and less often. Dominique has a knot of anxiety in her stomach over this, but she goes about smiling as if nothing’s changed—only everyone can tell it has. Her mother pats her on the head with a soft smile and kind eyes. Her dad, when he’s lucid, says Teddy’s just getting adjusted and to give him some time.
> 
> Victoire says he’s got a new girlfriend and Dominique dumps ink in her hair. She’s grounded for a month but it is worth the punishment.

 

Toby hasn’t got much Teddy notices—a small duffle with only a spare couple of shirts and a pair of ratty looking pants. Teddy rolls his eyes. “I’ve got some of my old clothes stored in the wardrobe—feel free to have a go at them and see what you can wear if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Toby says as he drops his duffle on the spare bed.

“Sure, now get ready I’ll show you around the kitchen and introduce you to the nightmare of known as Chef Louis before your shift starts.” Teddy leaves him to change and settle, all the while wondering what the hell has got into him.

Al asks the same question when Teddy breaks the news.

“You’re kidding; please, tell me you’re kidding.” He crosses his arms, and through the pale fabric of his pressed long-sleeve Teddy can see the dark swirls of colour in Al’s skin. “You do realise _who_ my father is, yeah?”

Teddy rolls his eyes, “Al, please, I knew your dad years before you were a thought in his mind.” Albus doesn’t take offense at that, but he does glare at Teddy due to the situation at hand.

“You’re supposed to report him.” His whisper is angry, and he stops speaking when one of the bands Teddy’s supposed to audition comes in through the front door. When they pass he steps closer to Teddy, “Seriously, you will land in hot shit if you don’t at least tell Dad.”

Teddy rubs a hand over the stubble on his cheek and sighs, “I know, I know, and don’t worry, I plan on ringing him first thing in the morning. I just need to figure out what I want to say before then.”

“You’re really going to keep this kid?” Al deflates a bit.

“Yeah,” Teddy says, “I feel like I need to protect him.”

“Fuck,” Al mutters, “You sound like Dad.” He runs a hand through his curls and the mop Al calls hair takes on that just shagged look Teddy’s always hated and envied. “I’ll tell Scorpius to stand ready to defend you to the Wizengamot.”

Teddy snorts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Al.”

Toby comes down in Teddy’s faded, beyond repair Weird Sisters T-Shirt and a pair of trousers that he’s got to bunch up over the tops of his trainers since Teddy’s legs seem to have been longer than Toby’s in youth. Yet, Teddy finds the grungy rocker look suits the kid—it’s basically what he was wearing when he came in earlier, even if the band he wears now is a bit dated.

“Will this work?” Toby says and in response Teddy hands him a white apron.

“It will now.”

In the kitchen Louis is busy barking at the few elves Teddy keeps on staff, telling them what to clean, as Louis takes to mopping up the floors. “A clean kitchen is a proper kitchen,” he’s telling the harassed elves, but Teddy knows they worship the arsehole for it.

“Lou,” Teddy says cheerily, knowing he’s annoyed Louis when the other man turns on him with cold blue eyes. “I brought you a new servant to boss about.”

Toby looks startled when Louis gives him a once over, but it’s odd—not intimidation, just startled curiosity. “He looks lazy,” Louis says and the smile Toby wears is genuine, perking Teddy’s growing interest.

“I promise not to be lazy.” Toby seems sincere but even so Louis appears doubtful.

Even if he’s cynical Louis says, “Go wash the dishes.”

“There aren’t any,” Toby says with a raised eyebrow at the sink.

With an almost cruel smile Louis says, “I don’t care, wash some.”

Teddy laughs, he can’t help it—and with an apologetic look at Toby, says, “You heard the man.”

 

> When she’s sorted into Ravenclaw Teddy winks at her from up the table; Dominique smiles briefly and goes about eating her meal after they listen to the Headmaster rattle off a list of rules. Her first night in the dorm is restless. “Finally,” she thinks, “Finally, I made it.”
> 
> Teddy doesn’t have much time for her during school days. He’s got a group of mates that he hangs out with on the grounds, and pisses around with in the corridors between classes. Though Dominique doesn’t much care, she’s got loads of new friends and is enjoying being around girls who aren’t quite prettier than she is.
> 
> The weekends are for Teddy and he keeps them for her.
> 
> “First Hogsmeade is this weekend,” Teddy says one Friday when she flags him down in the corridor to ask him if he’ll help her with Potions.
> 
> She doesn’t say anything more than, “Ah, okay.”
> 
> “Next weekend,” he suggests with an apologetic tone.
> 
> “It’s due Monday so don’t worry, you go and have fun.” She tries to smile but he’s giving her that look, the one which stares right through her.
> 
> “Nikita,” he whispers as he touches her cheek and she jerks away. With a sigh he says, “Come on, don’t be mad, yeah?” Teddy takes her hand and it feels like it has been so long. He smoothes his thumb over her small knuckles. “Your first Hogsmeade I’ll take you, and when I come back tomorrow I’ll have loads of goodies for you.”
> 
> He brings her candy and a few toys from her uncle’s shop, but when she’s thirteen he blows off his promise for a bit of skirt.

 

Al works front of house. He’s good with people, his disarming smile and glittering eyes—not to mention he’s a younger, handsomer version of his famous father. Teddy’s noticed over the years all the “odd” people in his pub, people who seem outside the sort of scene Teddy’s lain in these walls—and he suspects these people come for Al. He’s not complaining—between Al and Louis’ food Teddy’s pub does just fine, even when they’ve a shit band on. And even if the food leans more towards pretentious when Louis is feeling _creative_.

Tonight they’re lucky, Teddy’s been screening the hopefuls better since he first opened. Back when he needed any random set of musicians off the street. Now it’s an honour to play on his stage—or so he’s heard. He snorts every time a band member tells him that, he’s not sure he’d call it an honour. But he can admit some of the greats started on his stage—a few of them even stop in from time to time, for a bite, for a chat, or to see the newest hopefuls of Wizarding London.

_Celebrity_ Scorpius calls Teddy, and the flavour of the word still feels raw and disgusting in his mouth. But he’s been a “celebrity” since birth, much as everyone in his small knit group of friends and family have been. If you’re associated with Harry Potter in any way you are tabloid worthy.

But he’d like to believe this is a bit more than Harry, this place, a bit more than his parents, Teddy’d like to think this is all his passion—his purpose, or fuck what’s he been doing with his life.

They finish closing at three—every morning. Al pats him on the back on his way to the Floo and Louis gives him his usual glare when he follows. The elves are down in the small second pantry Teddy made into a bedroom for them. They claim it’s heaven and he feels bad for not renting them a room upstairs, but they always protest too much when he’s tried to give it to them in the past. Now, however, he’s got this kid.

The one currently drooling on his new mahogany bartop, and lightly snoring. Teddy smiles as he stares at the innocence this kid exudes. “Must be nice being so young,” he says as he ruffles the boy’s hair.

Toby’s eyes flutter open at the touch, “Mum,” he says as a wide yawn forces its way through the word.

“No, mate, it’s just me, Teddy.”

“Oh shit,” Toby says with a drowsy slur, “So it’s not just a fucking crazy dream?”

“Fraid not.”

“Man, this is heavy.” Slim fingers shove themselves up into pale hair and Teddy finally takes note of how pale Toby’s hair is.

“Damn, you look part Malfoy with hair like that.” His words obviously confuse his companion.

“Who?”

Teddy shakes his head, “No one. So you use those potions to change hair colour?”

Toby shakes his head, the same slow shake Teddy does. “No. This is natural and the chicks dig it so I keep it.” His wink is entirely too cheeky.

Finally they head up to the flat Teddy’s got upstairs. Toby needs some help and Teddy thinks for a tall kid with a handsome face he’s awfully awkward at times. But what does Teddy know maybe that adds to his appeal. Al certainly found him amusing and charming earlier in the evening when he was gushing over Al’s drumming abilities.

Comparing Al to a young John Bonham was just him being nice, Teddy is sure, but then again as enthusiastic as the boy was there’s no telling. Al as a result was a complete egotistical dick for the entire evening—meaning his charm was intensified and Teddy had to keep from throttling him by the night’s end.

Teddy’s Mobile Mirror rings and he touches the reflective glass to answer—it’s Jennifer, the bit of skirt who’s been chasing him for the past three months. She’s a nice girl, got an even nicer set of tits, and she has ridiculously soft, eager hands. But she’s missing that factor he’s been chasing for years—by now he’s resigned himself to the fact he’s never going to find it, and as a result he’s given up looking.

“Hey,” she purrs when the connection is made.

He smiles at her sleepily, “Hi.”

“I was hoping to come and have fun with you, now that work’s done.” She’s always right to the point. It annoys and arouses, usually the first more than the last.

“Right, well,” Teddy’s grasping for an excuse and luckily he’s got one, hasn’t he. “I’ve got one of my cousin’s kids here for a few days—maybe longer—so I’m gonna have to pass for a while.”

Her frown makes her very unattractive in Teddy’s opinion but he’s smart enough not to say so. “You’ve been putting me off a lot recently.” Apparently she’s onto him.

He sighs and sits up, “Honestly,” he starts and her face is a mask of tightly pinched fury. He’s glad he’s saying this now rather than in her company, though he’s sure she’ll find a way to exact her revenge, all of his “exes” find a way eventually. “I’m just not feeling it, yeah? I mean,” he rushes to add, “You’re great and all, but I’m getting on in years and all this sex is putting me off.” Really, he thinks to himself, _Really_ because he and his cock both know that’s not the case—when he’s a hundred maybe then it’ll have had enough. It’s just had enough of _her_.

“Is that why your performance is lacking,” she says and he’s sure it’s meant to be an insult—he takes it as an insult mentally but on the outside Teddy pretends to be an idiot and nods solemnly.

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling casual sex anymore.” He could kick himself in the bollocks for that, but really he’s glad to be done with her.

“Right, well—it’s been fun I suppose.” She’s barely keeping from snapping, he can tell. “I guess I won’t be seeing you round then.”

“Probably-,” she’s cut the connection before he can finish with ‘not’.

Falling back against the pillows Teddy sighs before finally closing his eyes to sleep.

 

> She’s fifteen when another Yule Ball comes round. Mum takes them to the fancy couture shop to get dresses made—or more specifically _a dress_. Mum asks if she minds—it’s Victoire’s first ball after all, as if it isn’t Dominique’s first as well. Dad says they can get two dresses but Mum dismisses the idea as too expensive. And he’d not in his right mind enough to argue once Mum’s made up her mind. Dominique can just go with a gown off the rack at Madame Malkin’s. She wants to scream, but she just smiles politely and does as she’s told.
> 
> Teddy joins her at Madame Malkin’s after Victoire’s got her expensive, classy gown. He keeps glancing over at Victoire and her gaggle of hens who are sitting giggling over some boy.
> 
> “You can go over there you know.” She’s irritated he’s staring at other girls when he should be helping her pick out a dress.
> 
> “But I promised to help you,” he replies.
> 
> “You’re not very good at it,” she all but snaps. He frowns at that but she ignores it as she pushes aside a few more gowns. She wishes terribly that Dad was here, at least he has a reason for spacing out—Mum’s gone off to help Louis with dress robes and shoes and Dad’s with Gran at hers so she’s basically in this alone.
> 
> “Sorry,” he says as if he isn’t really all that sorry at all.
> 
> “Yeah, fine.” She grabs three things off the rack and asks for a dressing room. The shopkeeper fawns all over her, saying how lovely she’ll look in any of the gowns and she’s polite as she accepts help into them from the woman. Teddy’s sitting in a chair near one of the mirrors when she comes out of the stall in a pale pink, almost white gown. It’s close to what she wanted, and almost as lovely as Victoire’s gown. She’s in love with it when she spies herself in the mirror. Teddy’s mouth goes a little slack and he’s looking at her in an almost different fashion, but she pretends she’s too busy appraising her dress to notice.
> 
> Of course Victoire has the final say on her dress. “She’ll look like me and that’s just not on—we’ve got to change it up.”
> 
> So she gets stuck in blue—her least favourite colour. Thankfully it’s a nice pale blue and not some dark atrocious number that will make her look pasty.
> 
> She wants Teddy to ask her to the ball, but he never does. She finds out he’s taking Victoire the night before and she’s feeling foolish because she’s dateless. Luckily she’s not stag the day of—Martin Canaday asks her and she’s grateful he’s somewhat attractive.
> 
> Later that night—after much dancing and fun flirting Martin steals her first kiss and her first kiss turns into her first snogging session. 

 

In the morning Teddy takes note of something that smells suspiciously like omelettes. He finds Toby in his kitchen, and sure enough in the skillet a decent looking omelette sizzles to perfection.

“Morning,” Toby calls brightly.

Teddy grunts out a “Good morning.”

“Coffee?”

“Sounds splendid,” Teddy says as he sits heavily on of the tall chairs at his table.

He’s got a cup of coffee before him, with a trickle running down the white side of the beaker from the hasty way Toby’s sat it before him. Teddy doesn’t complain though, he’s quite glad he didn’t have to get it himself.

Lifting the paper Teddy sees Harry’s grim smile and watches as his adoptive father shakes hands with the current Minister of Magic, the one Harry’s always raving is full of shite. Teddy’s always trusted Harry with these matters and seeing as he’s never been much good with politics he just agrees when Harry starts raving before and after dinner.

When the plate is sat before him he remembers he’s supposed to contact Harry about his current houseguest. Harry’s not likely to be happy over it but it’s better to tell him before the random paparazzi spots them out and weaves a darker tale—as that slag Rita is known to do.

“Anything interesting in that paper?” Toby inquires around a mouthful of omelette.

“If you’re interested in the new Minister then, yes—if not then the crossword is usually all right.”

Toby smiles and Teddy can see a bit of parsley in his teeth. “Nah, probably wouldn’t guess any of the words. I’m not up on current affairs in the United Kingdom.”

“Where are you from?” It’s to the point—something which makes Teddy feel awkward at times but at the moment his curiosity beats out his discomfort.

“New York—upstate near Rochester and Lake Ontario, but Floo to Salem Witches Institute every day for school.”

“You go home every night?”

“Yep.”

“Odd,” Teddy says.

“Mum said the same thing when we enrolled.”

Teddy watches him for a minute. “You sound English—well, English enough—is your mother from around here?”

“Yeah, she’s from some place called Cornwall, I think.” He smiles and adds, “I’ve got a bit of a mixed accent I suppose. She’s still got hers pretty good, and I usually just adopt my accent to those around me. I can’t help it—just kinda happens.”

Teddy nods, he used to be that way with eye and hair colour as a kid and even a bit as a teen—his body’s natural response was to change and adapt to the person nearest him. He’s offended quite a few people over the years due to that fact. He wonders if Toby’s offended others with his quirky response to those around him—Teddy finds it interesting more than offensive.

“Well, you’re almost believable,” Teddy says, finally after a moment of thought, “Until you go thrusting your hand out like you’re the dog’s bollocks.”

Toby snorts a laugh and Teddy grins when he notices he’s shot a bit of orange juice out his nose. “Fuck, that hurt,” Toby declares while he dabs at his nose with a napkin.

Louis comes to collect Toby before Teddy’s dressed. “You’re here at this ungodly hour?”

“It’s nine, Teddy, not four in the morning—which is the time I get up to start cleaning up your pub’s kitchen, I might add.”

“You just did,” Teddy grumbles and then adds, “Where are you taking him?”

“A bit of shopping. I’m going to meet with other butchers.”

“What’s wrong with the current one?” Probably some problem Louis has invented, Teddy’s sure.

“He’s overcharging you.”

“Right,” Teddy says with a wave of his arm, “Well, take him, but don’t wear him out—I’m sure his drool left a scar on my bartop. I don’t want him crashing like that tonight.”

“Later Ted,” Toby calls as he runs out the door behind Louis. He looks far too excited to be going to a butcher than Teddy expects he should be.

“Ruddy brat,” he calls fondly after the disappeared form.

Harry meets him at the pub. Teddy has some of the soup Louis prepared for the lunch meal and bread on a plate for him when he arrives.

“What’s your poison, Harry,” Teddy asks with his usual lazy smile when Harry takes his place at the bar.

“Water, thank you.” Harry looks around. “Well, everything looks intact—I am assuming there is a reason I’m here?”

Teddy leans a hip against his side of the bar and folds his arms, “Yeah, there might be.”

Harry points at him and says, “Teddy,” in the tone that implies he is not looking for Teddy’s usual games.

“All right, so I’ve got-,” he’s interrupted by Toby’s excited shout as he dashes into the pub, stuff in his arms and Louis following him at a sedate pace.

“Teddy,” the boy shouts, “You are not going to believe what I tried today!” Before Teddy can tell him to shut it he’s continuing , “Blood pudding—do you know what’s in blood pudding?” Teddy wants to tell him it’s in the name and call him daft but Toby’s so excited it’s hard to stop him. “And can you believe it didn’t taste like ass?” There’s the American in the boy again. Teddy smiles, a bit tight around the eyes due to the fact this is not how he wanted to introduce his present company to his, er, ward. He hasn’t much time to try and figure out a plan on how to introduce Harry to this new addition to Teddy’s house. Toby’s already doing it for him, like the brash youth that he is, “Hiya, I’m Toby—you look an awful lot like Al Potter, you know, you his dad or something?”

And God isn’t that _weird_ —a kid, in the Wizarding UK, who doesn’t know exactly who Harry Potter is. That throws Harry for a good second and he hasn’t much time to recuperate because Toby is speaking _again_ , “Fucking good drummer, that guy. Shame he didn’t stick with Ashwinders on Ice—then everyone would know he’s the greatest drummer of all time.”

Teddy seriously doubts Al’s the greatest drummer of all time but he’s seemed to have made a very heavy impression on Toby. And if Teddy’s being honest, then yes Al could have been something phenomenal—he’s just too much like his dad for his own good.

“His mother and I believe he had the potential, yes,” Harry’s eyes have gone fond and that’s a good thing Teddy thinks because then maybe he won’t level the bar when Teddy tells him he’s got a runaway from America kipping in his spare room.

“Why’d he quit—never got the full story on that, least where I am,” Harry frowns thoughtfully at that and Teddy wants to kick the kid for being a damn idiot. Less is more he mentally screams in Toby’s direction. It was all over the UK when Al quit Ashwinders on Ice. Teddy can still recall the headline “Straight-laced Malfoy Tames Rebel Drummer Al Potter.” He thought Harry was going to spit fire over that one. They’d finally supported Al—finally—after years of anger over the fact Al left school before his N.E.W.T.s and the fact he left for a band. And then Al drops the bomb he’s leaving his band—his band which was, at the time, signing a contract with Pantheon Records for 45 million galleons with a 5 million galleon signing bonus to make ten albums—two of which were already done—and Al told them he wasn’t going to go to L.A. without Scorpius. Scorpius—the selfish sod as Harry has dubbed him—who refused to go to L.A. because all of his life’s work is in London.

But as bands often do when a drummer leaves—Ashwinders on Ice didn’t suffer much due to the loss of Al, but even Teddy knows their past six drummers will never live up to the Al Potter standard they’d already set. Apparently, Toby knows this as well because he laments how amazing Al is at every opportunity.

“Love,” Harry says in response to Toby’s question, after many deep minutes of consideration. “He quit for love, like all stupid, courageous men do.” Teddy knows there’s a story about Ginny in that line somewhere but he’s not too keen on looking for it at the moment.

“My mum tells me to stay away from snatch for that reason—says it’ll make me stupid in life if I put it before everything else. Tough luck on your son falling for it—rock music will never be the same,” Toby adds solemnly at the end. Teddy’s amused by the strange look on Harry’s face—they all know Al’s nowhere near interested in “snatch”. Hasn’t wanted to see another vagina since he left his mother’s, and Al often jokes hers is the one that put him off them for life— _my first scarring memory_.

Louis calls Toby into the kitchen—obviously reading Teddy’s body language for the help it’s been silently screaming for, for the past fifteen minutes. Toby goes with a quick pat to Harry’s arm and an “It’s a pleasure to meet the man who made Al Potter.”

When he’s just out of sight Harry turns to Teddy and says, “He’s not from around here is he?”

“New York, he tells me,” Teddy tries for casual but Harry can tell he knows how much shit he’s in.

“Teddy, I’ve got to inform Percy. He oversees Children’s Welfare—not to mention I’ve got to get the Aurors on this as he is a foreign runaway and this is officially an international problem. Not to mention he should be in _school_ and you’ve got him working in a pub—a pub for 18 and overs.” Harry’s tone informs him he’s in deep shit and Teddy tries to play it cool.

Teddy leans against the bar top and hangs his head, “Look, Harry, please—he’s, I don’t even know his story yet—just give me some time.”

“Ted, you don’t even know this kid—how long’s he been here?”

“A day,” he tries to win Harry over with his best smile.

Harry’s eyes go hard, “A clean break is best you realise?”

Teddy frowns, “I just don’t want him to be put in the system.”

“Why, it’s not perfect but it works—you either believe in it or you don’t, we aren’t above the system, Teddy. No matter what some people may believe.” There’s a jab at Scorpius’s father in there somewhere, Teddy’s sure of it.

“I know—but, it’s just—he reminds me of me.” He’s really desperate to be pulling that line out of his book—worse yet he’s surprised by how much he means the words.

“I’ll put it off, for now,” Harry says quietly, after some minutes of consideration, “But I can’t put it off forever.” Then he adds with a fond, memory laden look, “He’s got the same crooked smile you’ve got.”

 

> Mum and Dad divorce when Mum can no longer handle what Dad’s become. He speaks only rarely and his speech is dull when it comes, void of life. He’s never been right in the head—not during Dominique’s life, at least. And she wonders what’s changed—why’s Mum leaving now?
> 
> She soon discovers Mum’s been having an affair.
> 
> Dominique watches as Teddy lets Victoire find comfort in his kiss, his arms. She’s bitter and resentful at seventeen. Mum’s off in France with her beau, Louis loves him to death because he’s got him summer work with some of the best chefs in the country.
> 
> Victoire promises to write Ted at the end of Dominique’s final year—when she’s off to France with Mum, Louis, and the new boyfriend Dominique doesn’t care to meet. It’s all his fault Dad’s lonely now. Dad, who is finally starting to have more days of constant lucidity.
> 
> Teddy tells her she should be nicer to Mum and Victoire, and that makes her more angry. Why the fuck should she—they buggered off, but she’s still here with Dad, because someone’s got to be here for him. Fuck Mum if she couldn’t handle it—she shouldn’t have made a vow. And fuck Victoire if she agrees with Mum, what’s she know about selflessness?
> 
> She goes out every night—men like to buy her drinks, chat her up, and fondle her exposed legs. She’s got quite a few who buy her expensive things, things she’s always wanted: designer shoes, handbags, dresses, jewellery, accessories. If she keeps up this way she’ll have enough items to be her own shop—that truth depresses more than it thrills.
> 
> Dad’s a lost cause she thinks, every time she returns, at the time between dusk and dawn, he’s always awake and staring out the window—looking for a life he can only dream about in solitude. She wishes him happiness, just as she wishes it for herself.
> 
> Teddy doesn’t like what she’s doing. He tells her often enough and she snarks back that he should shut it because if he really cared he wouldn’t be bollocks deep in Victoire at every opportunity. He tries to argue but she always shuts him down as she leaves.
> 
> Another party, another fake laugh, another pretend lover for the night—she’s become very accustomed to the ritual.
> 
> Teddy comes round often—they still are best mates, always will be. But there is an edge to his eyes and he’s looking older than 20 and she’s feeling older than 18. There are things they want to say, but neither of them has the courage. Sitting near his gran’s recently filled grave they hold each other and weep. Eventually the weeping leads to kissing and the kissing leads to panting and the panting leads to them half naked, filling the void of loneliness with the only comfort Dominique knows how to give.
> 
> Victoire and Teddy were brief and it’s been ages, Dominique thinks when she’s lying naked in Teddy’s bed listening to his listless sleep, but still she feels as if this is adultery. “He was mine first,” she whispers and curls closer to his back, soothing his stomach with her hands when he sucks in a terrified breath in his sleep. “He was mine first—so I shouldn’t feel so dirty.”

 

A month passes and Harry doesn’t come to collect Toby. He likes the boy—Teddy can tell. He always smiles fondly when Toby calls out to him, “Ol’ Uncle Harry,” he’s named him. Teddy knows Harry likes it better than Grampy which is what James’s kids have saddled him with.

Teddy likes him, too—he’s a reminder of something he’s almost but not quite forgot.

Then it happens—a picture, innocent little snapshot of the past—Toby’s holding a frame and saying, “Hey, Ted, who’s this chick?”

She’s not more than fourteen in this picture—it’s from the time they went to get their first tattoos. Harry played merry hell over those—Dean’s never quite recovered from Harry’s ire. He takes it—ever so gentle with the shells stuck to the frame. Dominique made it, with shells she’d picked on the shore just meters from her parents' then home.

“Where did you find this?” His voice is soft, fond, and lightly edged with pain.

“That old closet thing full of your clothes.”

“My wardrobe? Really,” he says, “I thought I’d cleared all the pictures out of there.” Hidden them away in boxes in the attic, or at least he thought he had—maybe this was one of the pictures Al has tried to sneak back into his life.

“So,” Toby asks again—strangely he’s buzzing with excitement. “Who is she?”

Teddy smiles, a smile he hasn’t worn in years—Al calls it the Nikita smile—and leans back against the sofa, staring and touching the laughing face. “Nikita,” he says finally and he hands the photo to Toby then points to his younger self. “That dashing rogue there is me.”

“Really,” Toby breathes out dramatically and Teddy is mildly affronted by his surprise. “You look young!”

“I was sixteen, that’s twenty-two years ago,” he groans. “God,” he says tiredly—just now acknowledging the years between his youth and now, “I suppose I was young once.”

Toby laughs and smoothes his hand over Nikita’s face, “She was lovely, wasn’t she?”

Teddy’s smile goes soft again, “She was, indeed.” His eyes are fond once more when he looks at the way her willowy arm wraps about his youthful form when she laughs in the frame he can hear her bright tone in his ear, as if she is close. “She was always my favourite.”

“What happened,” Toby whispers.

“Stupidity,” Teddy says, “Things unspoken—you always figure out what you should have said in the past years after the fact.”

“What kind of things?” Toby wonders quietly.

“I’m sorry. I’m a prat. You’re the best. I love you.” Teddy laughs, “Simple things—seems rather easy doesn’t it, but it’s not—communicating with women is an art I’ve yet to perfect.”

“Can’t you call her or something?” Toby plays with the hem of his baggy shirt.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me—I’ve owled, tried to ring when I still knew her Mirror handle, but she’s done with me, son.” He ruffles Toby’s soft hair—not sure why but it calms him and Toby leans closer to his side and awkwardly tries to give him some form of ‘I’m here for you, man’ comfort. It helps and Teddy’s glad this kid’s here.

When he stands to make dinner Teddy notices Toby lift the frame of the picture, but he doesn’t stay to watch how Toby’s eyes glaze.

 

> During the summer nights the bands come—Teddy’s three on this evening and Dominique comes to help with serving drinks as one of the bands is Al’s—and Al doesn’t bartend when his band plays, he’s usually too high to do anything but beat on the drums. Teddy’s in the small kitchen frying up fish, making burgers, and copious amounts of chips. The orders are magicked to their proper tables as soon as they’re done and more pour in as Dominique writes them down.
> 
> Al’s band closes the pub down—the shrill sounds of his “trash metal”(as Teddy’s dubbed it) ringing in their ears long after the set’s been played—at least that’s what Teddy gripes about as they wander away from the pub.
> 
> “Fuck, I’m getting old,” he complains as they all head up the road. Al sees them to Teddy’s street before he kilters off to illegally Apparate home—Uncle Harry’s going to ground him again if he’s not careful.
> 
> “You’re just twenty-two, Teds—hardly old,” Dominique says as she hugs his arm to her—squishing her breasts against him, purring in her usual way.
> 
> “You make me feel older,” he says honestly. He expects her to crack a joke, but she doesn’t. She is unusually silent as they ascent the stairs to his flat.
> 
> In the corridor he places his jacket and beanie on the rack—Dominique hangs her jacket up as well and follows him through the flat. In his bedroom she drops her shorts. She’s got no knickers, as per usual, and she slips out of her shirts. Exposing her breasts to the room, her nipples harden from the chill, and she crawls under the covers after him.
> 
> He’s lying on his side facing away from her when she presses against him, the warmth of her body invading his skin. “I could make you feel young again,” she whispers—her tongue dancing teasingly after the breath of her words.
> 
> Then he’s on her—rolling her down against the mattress, breathing down her soundless moan. She arches against him as his hands ghost her skin “Just this once,” he whispers.
> 
> With a smile she repeats, “Just this once.” Only she doesn’t mean it.

 

Toby is across the table from him with a miserable look on his face when Teddy comes in one evening—it’s the first time in three months Teddy’s seen him so miserable, and it’s the first time he’s missed work.

“All right there, Toby?”

“Yeah, no, I dunno, man.” His speech is fast and cracks with obvious distress.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Dunno,” he mutters like the mutinous teenager he is. “I just—fuck.”

“Please tell me we don’t have to have the sex talk, because frankly, I am not ready to give that sort of advice.” Teddy feels as uncomfortable as he is sure he looks.

“No, it’s just,” he trails off again. “You know—sometimes I don’t realise how lonely I am, you know?” Teddy does know. He knows rather well actually—he’s been lonely his whole life, and only on the rare occasion is that loneliness not trying to scratch under his skin and seep into his bones. Teddy’s the kind of person who can feel alone in a room full of people.

“I understand,” he says and he wonders if Toby can tell he means it. The silence that drifts between them is charged and Teddy looks up, saying, “Tell me about her.”

“Who?” Toby looks around as if there is supposed to be some clue written in the air.

“Your mother.”

Toby’s eyes go soft and Teddy’d like to think that’s how he looked when he was young and his gran would tell him stories about his own mother. He likes to think he looked that happy and full of wonder when thinking about a woman he’s never known.

“She’s got a great smile.” He’s grinning at Teddy and Teddy thinks if Toby’s mother’s smile is half as bright as her son’s then it truly is a great smile. “And when she laughs it makes the world right.” His long fingers tap against the top of the table and he stares at his bitten down nails as he speaks, “She’s like the coolest person in the universe without even trying. I have to watch out because when she walks into a room everyone notices her—she’s this insanely pretty woman and it’s not just on the outside. Like she’s got this personality that draws people closer—she’s nice, but not that superficial nice like girls I know. She’s honest, and quirky, a bit nerdy, and an insane flirt.”

A lot like her son then, Teddy thinks as he watches emotions shift in the light of Toby’s eyes. He swallows and sits back, looking away and Teddy pretends he doesn’t see that he’s almost crying.

“She’s forgiving—the best kind of forgiving, like no matter how bad you fuck up she still loves you,” Toby finally says thickly.

Teddy smiles, he’s known a few women who are that forgiving and he’s loved all of them dearly. “She’ll forgive you for this,” Teddy says, “Forgiveness is the final form of love.” When Toby looks up he cracks a half grin at him, “I read that in a card once.”

Toby snorts out a laugh. “She may not love me after this.”

“My gran used to say a mother’s love knows no end. Mad as she was at my mum for leaving me and rushing after my dad during the war, she never stopped loving her.” A long pause and Teddy finally asks the question one of them is curious to know the answer to and the other is actively avoiding, “So why did you run off, and better yet how did you run away—you live an ocean away, that takes ages to get a proper Portkey.”

Shifting in his seat Toby looks at the ground, his eyes on his socked feet as he whispers, “My mum’s got a boyfriend.” Teddy waits and finally he says, “He says he’s going to push me out in a few years—when I’m eighteen, because I’m shit and cause trouble apparently and he plans on knocking my mum up and having a nice family.” He looks up and over at Teddy, “And I’m not a part of this nice family equation.”

Teddy sets his face in his hand while he holds Toby’s gaze. “You running away doesn’t keep him from forcing you out, you know—if anything, you did his job for him.”

“I know—I want her to have this nice family, I want her to fall in love and be normal.” He shrugs. “If I fuck that up for her I won’t be able to forgive myself, you know. She’s given me everything—s’the least I could do for her.”

Teddy chuckles. “How terribly selfish of you.”

Toby doesn’t understand now, but one day he will—if anything he’s made her pain greater. Teddy can’t imagine ever being a parent—it seems too damn painful and raw. He’s perfectly fine with being an uncle until the day he dies.

“As for how I got here,” Toby says to break the odd tension in the air. “I was really pissed after Daniel told me he wanted this great wonderful family and I was waiting for my friend Jason, was supposed to return his money, and all the while I kept getting madder and madder and finally I just wished to see my dad. Then a painful yank behind my belly button and here I was.”

Teddy quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’d better get to looking for him, then—she might be with him trying to find you.”

“She’s not,” Toby says softly. “I’ll know when she’s with him.”

Nodding, Teddy decides to let the subject drop. Teenagers know everything and so he doesn’t try to tell this one otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

> Lying in a sweaty tangle they smile at one another before Teddy sits up and fetches a smoke. “You fuck like a whore,” he says, but they both know it’s not a complaint.
> 
> She scoots her head closer to his stomach and he moves his hand down so that she can take a drag of his cigarette. “I’ve ruined you for other women, haven’t I, Ted?”
> 
> Smiling, “You wish.” He burrows further into the blankets and with a yawn says, “Now belt up—you’ve got to help me again tomorrow once you’re done at Dean’s.”
> 
> She grins but he cannot see the expression. “I know, Teddy. I’m ready.”
> 
> They’ve never really fought—not really. There are arguments—rows started by one or both of their stubbornness, and then there is the healing calm of forgiveness. It’s never truly a fight—because Dominique’s never been strong enough to say when. She caves and shoves all her feelings aside so as to never hurt Teddy. Feelings aren’t meant to be bottled. This is their demise—the slow decay.
> 
> And one day there is nothing to stop the flow of the festering wound.
> 
> “Fuck you,” she shouts as she starts shoving her clothing into a duffle. Yanking her precious frocks roughly from Teddy’s wardrobe. “What do you know?”
> 
> “He’s not right, Nikita and he never fucking will be,” Teddy shouts back and she pauses by the wardrobe—her hand gripping at its open door.
> 
> “He’s my father,” she whispers. “He’s all I’ve got.”
> 
> Teddy wants to tell her she’s got him, she can see it written in his eyes, but they both know that’s not completely true. Dominique only gets him when he’s alone, frightened, depressed—everything not happy. She has none of his easy smiles and warm gestures—not any longer—and she thinks she never really has.
> 
> “Why do you do this to yourself,” he asks instead.
> 
> And the anger comes back. “It’s the same reason I torture myself by being here with you—you fucking twat—because of love. Love—that stupid retched thing I hate the most.”
> 
> She’s gone soon after—and his answer rings out in the emptiness she’s left behind. “I hate it, too.”
> 
> Al tells her she’s a twat when he meets her for lunch in Hogsmeade the weekend before Winter Hols.
> 
> “Why am I the twat?” She’s sketching out a tattoo for him—he wants her to be his first and she’s preparing something she can be proud of while being scolded by Uncle Harry.
> 
> Al lays his head against the booth’s back and she kicks him playfully beneath the table. “You’re both twats,” Al says with one of his easy going smiles. “You’re both idiots.”
> 
> When their drinks are almost empty she says, “I know.”
> 
> Bill’s never been an easy man to deal with, at least not during Dominique’s life. She’s been told by every relative she has that once upon a time her father wasn’t so far gone with fits of rage and days of apathy. She’s the one who has to keep telling herself that—matter of fact, because any more she doesn’t want to forget her dad. Those few sunny moments when he was doting and fun and everything a father is meant to be.
> 
> He’s in one of his apathetic moods when she comes in after work. Dean told her he could close up alone when she got the message from Victoire, and she’s here now. In this cold house, staring at the corpse she calls father.
> 
> “Dad,” she says, but he shows no sign that he’s heard.
> 
> With a sigh she sets the bag of groceries on the counter and opens the icebox—the smell of old food filling her lungs. A cough and a scowl as she starts ridding the icebox of all its contents.
> 
> When she’s frying mushrooms in the pan she remembers being seventeen and cooking Teddy’s birthday dinner. He was nineteen then—playing his guitar, singing a song she didn’t know, and she watched over him as she had when they were children. She remembers—then—he suddenly felt so distant.
> 
> “I made your favourite.” Calling out to him hadn’t bridged the gap—even now she’s not sure anything can. For all they fuck there is still something missing. Or maybe it’s not—maybe they just aren’t strong enough for this to work yet, maybe they’re too young.
> 
> Now she rubs her eyes and pushes her hand up her forehead when she’s got dinner ready. The plate is loaded and she takes it to her dad—setting the food before his red-rimmed eyes. Even when she touches his shoulder he doesn’t turn to acknowledge her presence. Teddy says she’s allowing Bill to hurt her—believing in a man who never was. If that’s true then she’s allowing Teddy to hurt her as well.
> 
> Mum rings on her Pocket Mirror and Dominique is tempted to ignore it but she answers because she knows Mum’ll just send Victoire round if she doesn’t and she might just commit murder if she has to see Victoire now.
> 
> “Yeah,” she says and she can see Mum’s elegantly painted face as it ripples into view.
> 
> “How’s your father?”
> 
> Bitterly she says, “As if you care.”
> 
> “Nikita-,”
> 
> “Don’t call me Nikita—as if you care for me, or him, Mum.”
> 
> “Dominique,” her mother looks genuinely upset. “I have always loved your father, always will—just like I will always love you.”
> 
> She snaps the compact closed, not wanting to hear more of her mother’s tired excuses, and leans against the counter, a beer sounds fucking fantastic right now but she’s not ready to see Ted. It’s too raw—this hurt, this anger. She pulls a canned lager from the fridge. It’s not great but it eases a bit of the tension and it makes her feel warmer.
> 
> When there are five or more empty lager cans in the rubbish bin she moves to walk Bill up the stairs. He’s in bed after much fumbling on her part, and he still hasn’t spoken. “Night, Dad,” she whispers—brushing an alcohol scented kiss against his forehead.
> 
> In the cloak of night she finds a pub—dodgy like Ted’s and sets about vying for a companion. She hates sleeping alone. An empty bed reminds her she has nothing in this world. If only for a night she wants someone to steal away the cold that has settled in her soul, and if they can’t she’ll settle for their brief distractions.
> 
> Sex has always come easy to Dominique—she was a creature born to entice and she does so as easily as she breathes.
> 
> Teddy often calls her a decadent whore—reckless and passionate, she gives her everything in sex. Even now, in bed with this stranger, she clings to him and encourages him to go deeper, harder. She’s demanding he give her his all as she lays her everything out before him.
> 
> He told her his name—they all do, but it’s never their names she calls. She’s always silently calling for Teddy, and there is never an exception.
> 
> In the morning he asks if he can come by again—they all do, but she doesn’t do repeats.

“You know my mum’s a tattoo artist,” Toby says one night when Al’s over and Scorpius is droning on about how Teddy and Al need to quit putting so much ink into their skin.

Toby’s interjection into the conversation causes one of Scorpius’s well groomed eyebrows to arch towards his hairline, “Really?” He gives Toby an obvious once over. “Don’t tell me you’ve got markings all over your skin like these idiots?”

The smile Toby gives Scorpius is positively sweet when he says, “My first one was a Christmas present from Mum when I was fourteen.”

Teddy and Al laugh while Scorpius rolls his eyes in an uncharacteristic way. “What’s the world coming to,” he moans dramatically. “Pretty soon it will be the brats at primary sporting the logos of their favourite kiddie bands.”

Al cracks a smile, “I can just see it now, Scorpius the dancing pygmies tattooed on every round toddler belly—such a lovely thought.”

Toby cackles. “My mum’s gotten requests for the pygmies several times, by big burly dudes.” Teddy loves how every single time the word ‘gotten’ slips out of Toby’s mouth and is spoken with that believable accent Scorpius winces. It’s almost worth hearing the word.

“How did your mother get into the business,” Al ventures later when the game of 999 Quidditch Problems but a Broom Ain’t One gets rather tedious and boring—as if Teddy cares what year Sonny Connelly got a foul for grabbing a hold of Seth Jameson’s arm when he tried to throw the Quaffle into the middle Quidditch Hoop.

“Some guy offered to buy her a tattoo when she was fourteen or fifteen and she said what the hell. Says she was taken with the process more than the shitty flash she picked for her ankle.”

“That’s a bit insane,” Scorpius mutters, incredulous.

“Mum says nothing’s insane unless you haven’t lived it.” Teddy thoroughly agrees with that sentiment.

Once Al and Scorpius have left Teddy and Toby sit around, listening to the wireless while Teddy reads through _The Prophet_ and Toby plucks at the strings of Teddy’s old guitar.

“What’s your mum look like?” Teddy inquires, breaking the silence.

“Tall, blonde, pale, tattoos—blue eyes,” Toby says, and then puts his tongue between his teeth as he tries to play the same refrain he’s been stumbling over for weeks. Teddy figures one day he’ll get the courage up to ask for help, but until then Teddy’s not offering—he finds amusement in the way Toby’s always cursing, quite colourfully, each time he messes up.

“She sounds like my type,” Teddy says teasingly—hoping to get a rise out of Toby.

What he doesn’t expect is the hopeful, “Really?”

“Well, blonde and pale, really, and tattoos turn me on right quick but, I mean—there’s more to it than that, yeah?”

“Dunno,” Toby mutters, suddenly moody, “Mum says physical attraction’s all there is to it—love’s only for your kids, it doesn’t exist where sex happens.”

Teddy thinks that’s terribly jaded but doesn’t contradict the statement—he can see the truth in the words; it’s how he feels in relationships. All sex, no love, loads of eventual misunderstanding.

> Fights always manage to make situations uncomfortable—this odd silence that continues while they are together at a family function increases the awkwardness. She tries to avoid him, he tries to avoid her, and then suddenly they can’t.
> 
> Then they are in the broom shed, buggering like a couple of bumbling teenagers who’ve just discovered the delicious friction of touching, tasting—fucking. Dominique’s mouth is on his, swallowing any and all words he might have spoken. She’s not here to listen, she’s here to feel less lonely—Teddy is as well.
> 
> Her knickers are on the dusty floor and she digs the heels of her boots into the splintering wall while she uses a shelf just above Teddy’s head for leverage. She rides him ruthlessly—her arms straining, her lip bitten between her teeth, her thighs tight against him on every downward thrust. His hands grip her arse; harshly his nails dig into the soft flesh of her skin—leaving little red crescent moons.
> 
> Sex doesn’t have to take hours to be amazing—a fifteen minute quickie with Teddy is more enjoyable to Dominique than a marathon fuck with the boring blokes she often follows home.
> 
> By the time they come sweat soaks them, blush stains their skin, and their clothing is wrinkled beyond decency.
> 
> She lights them a fag and takes the first drag before she lets him have a taste.
> 
> “Why do we do this?” Teddy suddenly speaks.
> 
> Dominique looks up at him. Her eyes heavily shadowed with greys and black; her colourless mouth pulls into a lazy white smile. “This is the only truth we know—you, me, and a shag between us.”
> 
> “Do you ever want more?”
> 
> She watches him for a long minute and finally with a sigh says, “Will you ever be willing to give more?”
> 
> “I don’t know.”
> 
> She doesn’t say anything, she expects as much from him—somewhere he knows this is a losing battle. Somewhere Teddy knows he is yanking the thread to unravel the sock. Dominique knows it as well, but neither of them tries to make this more.
> 
> Dominique is out with her mates. It’s the usual scene—booze, flirting, a bit of potions, and meaningless heavy petting in dingy loos. As she crushes a cigarette in an ashtray outside the pub, sitting on the cold bench, she thinks this isn’t the life she wants to remember as she dies. This isn’t the way she wants to be remembered—the drunken slag who was always up for a bit of the ol’ in and out.
> 
> These aren’t the friends she sees with her in the darkest of days—these are the flakes that will leave her stranded in a loo, surrounded by a pool of her own sick. She knows because as it becomes harder and harder for her to keep the sickness at bay she’s been left, in solitude, leaning against more and more smelly u-bends.
> 
> Teddy’s Floo is always open at this hour. Dominique pours out of the flames and manages not to sprawl against the unkempt carpet. He doesn’t hear her as she slips into his room, and barely stirs when she warms his skin with her own.
> 
> “Teddy,” her voice smells sour, but he’s not awake to notice. “Teddy,” she whispers, “What if I want more?”

Christmas is always a jolly affair. More so when Gran Weasley is meeting a new member of the growing family. Today that person is Toby. Poor bastard is getting the full brunt of her cooing and coddling, and Teddy can’t help but feel amused.

“He reminds me so much of you,” she whispers to Teddy with a happy tone. “But even more so he reminds me of Dominique.” Teddy nods, he’s seen the similarities plenty over these past months—in an odd way he’s falling in love with Dominique all over again and it’s all thanks to a stranger.

The presents are just done being torn open by the children—everyone’s got a plate of cobbler and Teddy is feeling full, warm, and happy. Toby is beaming—Harry bought him a new broom, Scorpius spoiled him with a pouch of gold, and Al gifted him with a drum set. Teddy could kill them.

“We’re gonna play a pickup game in the yard,” Toby says and Teddy waves him on. Toby’s leaning towards Roxy’s daughter Memphis and her big hazel eyes. It makes Teddy grin as he watches them move towards the door.

“Have fun—I am not getting on a broom.” Al and James are standing to join the younger members of the family and Teddy is about to reply to some glib remark Al’s made about him being old and out of shape when a very familiar, very upset voice fills the den from the mouth of the hall.

“Sidney Tobias,” she says—flushing with a mix of anger and relief. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” And she’s got her hands on her hips—a great representation of Gran Weasley.

“Mum,” Toby whispers and something terrifying—yet something Teddy _knew_ instinctively—happens. Toby’s hair, in his fright shifts through an array of colours and his appearance changes rapidly—until finally he is a little white mouse trying to bound away.

Dominique seems rather used to this for a short wave of her arm and he’s squirming in the palm of her hand. “We’ve got some serious talking to do. I’ve just spent five months worried out of my fucking mind!” Harry’s a pace behind her and Teddy’s just now noticing him. His eyes tell Teddy something and he jerks his head, indicating Teddy should join him for a moment.

The Weasley house is never quiet, but right now Teddy can hear the tick of every clock and the creak of every old board.

When he’s in the back garden with Harry—Dominique and Toby off to the side, her yelling under the veil of a silencing charm while Toby cowers—Teddy lets out a low breath.

“What the fuck is going on,” he asks Harry quietly as he lights up a fag.

“Looks to me like you’ve got a son.” Harry says this with a very droll tone and dry glance.

“Yeah and it looks to me like you knew.” Teddy’s not sure what he should feel so he speaks with indifference. Mostly he’s not surprised he’s got a son, and he’s even less surprised the child is also Dominique’s—it seems like the sort of fuck up they’d manage.

“For what it’s worth, Ted—I found out just before she came into the house.” Teddy believes it—Dominique would never tell Harry something unless she didn’t mind Teddy knowing. Harry’s always been honest to a fault with his children and Teddy.

> She’s got the little plastic stick, and is looking at the disrespectful smiley face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” It doesn’t change—the smile is still there and it’s still mocking her.
> 
> In reality, she knew this would happen. She is reckless with Teddy—they are usually drunk, too miserable, too in need, and too lonely to spare a thought for the consequences. And now those consequences are giving her a sarcastic laugh while staring her in the face.
> 
> “Shit.”
> 
> Dominique’s not got anyone she can talk to—no one other than Teddy and even he hardly listens, just as he hardly speaks. So she winds up at Dean’s. He’s got a customer in a chair and the steady buzz of his tattoo machine calms her as she sits near him. Dean’s always been a mentor—he gave her a job when no one else would, and he’s taught her a trade that keeps food in the icebox even if Gran doesn’t approve, and he’s never once judged her for her weaknesses. He’s like her family, but better because she feels as if she can be honest with him. Right now he is just what she needs—Dean is like the father she’s always wanted.
> 
> She’s lying on the bar looking up at the glasses with her blouse open as Teddy’s hand snakes up her stomach, over her breasts, and she’s telling him all about her plans.
> 
> “I want to run this place,” she says—back arched as he half listens-half devours her. “Make it a nice pub—like The Three Broomsticks only better—more us. You and I –we could do it, Ted.” He’s on her, over her, pressed close so as not to knock glasses from their resting spots. She’s gasping and he’s grunting and all the while she never stops dreaming, “We could run it—have a couple kids—buy a crup—fuck yes, Teddy, there!” And then she’s be arching, clinging, begging and he’s giving her more as she demands.
> 
> “Teddy,” she calls and he stops staring at the bartop. His eyes—an array of endless colour—are on her face.
> 
> As he looks at her he says, “Yeah, all right—it’s yours.” His tone breathless as his eyes slip half closed and his damp lips part when his orgasm comes.
> 
> Only a few days later she knows he doesn’t mean it—he’ll never be the dream she wants. She’s behind the bar, wiping it down and says, “Would you marry me?”
> 
> He laughs. “That’s not exactly a romantic proposal.”
> 
> She doesn’t smile and he wears a sobering expression when he faces her. “You’re serious?” Another laugh though this one is full of more scorn than she cares to hear. “Dominique,” he never calls her by her name—not unless he wants to hurt her. “You and I—this is convenience, a way to fill up the empty, yeah? What kind of marriage would we have? It’d be like it is now—only more jealous, with more hurt. At least now we can ignore the fact we’re fucking not right for one another—you’re a slag, I’m a dickhead, and we warm each other up at night, that’s it. We’re not in love.”
> 
> She swallows. “Of course not, Ted—who could love you?” 

She’s not supposed to be back here—this isn’t supposed to be happening, and the tea Gran sets in front of her is too bitter for it to be any form of calming.

“Dominique,” Gran says—and they both pretend they cannot feel the gaggle of nosy listeners who hover near the opening between the dining area and the living room. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Of course Mum doesn’t care—she’s never so much as responded to Dominique’s letter about Toby, nor has she made any effort and Dad would be a lost cause if he was still alive to tell—Gran’s the only one who wants to know, she’s the one Dominique should have told. But she didn’t—she couldn’t bring herself to tell any of them, back then. And as the years wore on the ease of writing a letter became more and more difficult.

Sixteen years too late for regrets.

“I wanted to start a new life.” It’s mostly true. She wanted to leave Teddy behind and in order to do that she had to cut out the rest of her family—they were just as much his, and she figured he needed them more than she’d ever want them. She’s never exactly known true attachment or affection for the people she was born knowing—only her father and Teddy, but loving them did nothing more than break her heart.

Gran doesn’t say anything, but she looks so terribly upset by Dominique’s words—she almost regrets saying them.

“When was he born?”

Dominique smiles then. “March 22—best and worst day of my life.”

Teddy is sitting with Toby on the sofa when she exits the dining room—they are huddled there, awkward and terribly silent—she goes to them and jerks her head at her son.

“We’re going.”

“But-,” he starts and she cuts him off with a look, the look that allows no room for argument.

“We’re going—now, and I’d better not hear so much as a sniffle out of you when we leave.”

“Where are you staying?” Teddy inquires—the question she knows Toby wants to ask and it sets her nerves on edge when they share a silent communication, as if in this short amount of time they have become old chums.

“The Leaky for tonight—tomorrow I plan on finding more suitable lodgings.” The unspoken _now that you know about him_ hangs in the air between them, and she wants to breakdown—scream and demand that things go back to the way they were when it was just her and her son.

“How long will you be staying?” Teddy tries to sound casual, but they both know him better than that—he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know. She wants to ask how he expects her to leave now, but she doesn’t.

Instead Dominique states with cool calm, “I’ll let you know when I have a place.”

> It is a warm day in May—the fourth—and Teddy is at Gran Weasley’s, dying to eat cake and ready to go flying with Harry. Everything is set up for Victoire and Dominique’s joint birthday party. A year and two days between them, Dominique and Victoire are really close, or so it seems to Teddy because they do all the same things and do those things together all the time. They are lucky to be so much alike and have enough in common not to fight over the details of their party.
> 
> Only things are never as they seem.
> 
> Dominique is sitting under the long branches of a lone tree by Granddad Weasley’s shed. She’s looking up at the branches and as Teddy approaches her he can hear her sniffle as she sings softly to herself.
> 
> “Are you all right?” he says as he moves to join her in the shade.
> 
> “Why do I always have to share a cake?” She sounds bitter and annoyed at seven.
> 
> “Because it’d be a waste to have two?” Teddy is trying to be diplomatic at nine.
> 
> “But then at least I’d get to pick my cake and maybe my party decorations, and maybe for once it wouldn’t be all about Victoire.”
> 
> “But today is your birthday.” Teddy says and Dominique is annoyed when she glances at him.
> 
> “I know.”
> 
> “Happy Birthday to you then, and not Victoire.”
> 
> He’s never seen anyone smile quite as brightly as Dominique.

“Mum,” Toby starts as soon as he sees her in the morning. She told him the night before, with a short dismissive tone, to put himself to bed and not bother her until daybreak. It’s well past daybreak now and he’s fidgeting where he stands by the entrance to the in-suite bathroom.

She sighs and puts her hands in her long hair—Dominique wants to ignore him, she wants to be silent and not yell, but most of all she wants to bury her anger and hurt though she knows, from experience, how much damage that will do.

“How could you do this to me?” It’s not where she wanted to start but the question spills out before she can form any other coherent thought.

He recoils, a pained wince scrunching up his handsome face, and she feels a momentary thrill of satisfaction over the fact he knows he’s disappointed her. She wants him to suffer a bit, too.

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbles, crossing his thin arms as he glances at his bare feet against the cheap carpet of the Leaky’s room.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she shouts and moves before him—nose to nose—and she narrows her eyes, “You wanted to hurt me, Toby! I know you, and you know what you fucking did—you hurt me more than anyone ever has dreamed of hurting me, even more so than that bastard you call a father!”

Her parting shot garners a reaction and Toby yells back at her, “Teddy’s not a bastard and he’s not worthless like you’ve always said!”

Dominique smiles—a grim little quirk of her lips—and folds her arms over her chest, “You know him so well, do you?”

“No,” Toby speaks out, in obvious anguish, “And that’s what sucks, Mum—you never gave me the chance to know him.” He might’ve said more but he’s gone with a crack before she can stop him. Now she knows where he’s going—but she’s still filled with the same hopelessness as the last time he deserted her.

> Dominique is sitting on the low tire-swing, humming as she pushes her old rubber seat back and forth with the ball of one of her feet. Harry has her for the weekend and Teddy doesn’t understand why she’s been spending more and more time at Harry and Ginny’s.
> 
> “You want me to push you,” he asks and it is a long while before she shakes her head ‘no’ after glancing his way. Teddy frowns, “You look sad.” He ventures closer and she spins away from his gaze, twisting the three ropes round and round each other while Teddy chases her face and she runs from his stare. Finally she is wound too tight and starts twirling in the swing—giggling like mad when she finds she cannot stop.
> 
> When she slows enough Teddy reaches out a hand and grabs one of the ropes, smiling when she has to face him. “You are much more fun when you laugh.”
> 
> She laughs again and Teddy finds the sound infectious.
> 
> “Spin me around, Teddy,” she commands and he does as told. This is the first time he realises he will always do exactly as she tells him, and he’s not old enough yet for that realisation to frighten him.

Teddy doesn’t seem surprised to see her when she steps out of his Floo. He glances up at her from his old tweed sofa and folds his evening edition paper, setting it on the side table as he says, “I was wondering if I should ring you.”

“Where is he?” She’s not accusing or angry, just tired and unsure of how this will all play out.

“Sleeping,” Teddy says with an almost fond expression softening his expressive eyes. “He asked to help Louis in the kitchen—Louis seemed eager to spend more time with him, and even allowed him to help prepare starters. Finding out you have a nephew changes heartless bastards apparently.”

Dominique gives a short snort of a laugh, “I bet that was odd to see—Louis being anything but a twat while preparing food.”

“I swear Hell froze over, by morning we’ll all be dead.” She rolls her eyes in response.

Silence descends on them like a thick blanket in winter: warm and musty and hard to kick off. Finally, Teddy breaks the ice and addresses the griffin in the room.

“When did you know he was mine?” He’s not half as angry as she’s often imagined. Then again Teddy’s always been the apathetic sort, he rarely gets upset and when he does it is in lonely solitude so he can fall apart alone. She always hated that side of his personality as much as she’s loved him.

“I knew before the piss hit the stick—you were the only one I was never cautious with.” She gives him a sarcastic smile, “I might be a slag, Ted, but I am hardly stupid. I wasn’t looking to catch something I couldn’t wash off.”

The expression on his face is unreadable and she gives up trying to see through his emotions after a few more moments—staring into his eyes is uncomfortable. She decides to take a seat in the old armchair he has, and picks at the fraying arm if only to avoid his gaze.

“I don’t have to ask why you didn’t tell me,” he says when more quiet drags tension between them. His tattooed knuckles—Live Life—mesh the lettering together before he puts his hands behind his head. “I-,” he stops when he hears Toby in the corridor.

“Mum,” Toby says, awkward and too tall in the opening of the hall, “Why’re you here?”

“I’m here because you’re here,” Dominique says—and she means it. Her life will always be where Toby is and she doesn’t dare to dream of where she will be when he is grown and gone. It’s a heartbreak she doesn’t care to think of until the day it arrives.

> He is scared of leaving. School is forever away and he won’t be able to keep Nikita company—keep her sane and happy and smiling while her parents slowly rot and fall apart. Her mum is ripping at the seams; he’s heard Ginny and Gran talking about it with Harry in hushed whispers, lately. Her mum is straying they’ve said, but he’s not sure yet what that means—he only knows it will end with Nikita crying.
> 
> At the platform he can hardly keep it together—she’s trying hard to smile and tell him to have fun and he knows inside she’s screaming, she’s dying. He knows because inside he’s dying, too.
> 
> One, two, three constant letters—but after the third he’s finding it harder and harder to keep up the pretence of indifference. He sees the way her hand shakes—sees it in the wobbling curve of her letters. He notices the smudges of ink from little drops of “rain”—she’s not fooling him and Teddy’s not sure he knows how to comfort her through the cold distance of a letter filled with meaningless dribble.
> 
> So he doesn’t try and as the days go by he finds it harder and harder to sit down and write her back. More often than not he feels as if he’s failed her.
> 
> “I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the crumpled parchment in his hands as he stares out of the window of his dorm—wondering if she is looking at the same cloud covered moon.

She goes to see Dean and the smile he wears when she steps into the shop is priceless and she feels as if it hasn’t been four years shy of twenty. She’s twenty again when she hugs him close and breathes in his familiar scents. _This_ moment, for her, makes her finally feel as if she is home.

“Dominique,” he says—wrapping her in another fierce hug. “Is it really you, love?”

She’s got a film of tears as she grips him tight, “Yeah, it’s me.”

He swallows, she hears it, and they stand there together until Toby clears his throat. He’s obviously not fond of Dean—brat probably thinks Dean will be another of her shite boyfriends and she nearly laughs.

“This is your boy, then?” Dean wears a proud smile, almost like he loves Toby even though he doesn’t know him, and she grins in response while giving a short nod.

“Sidney Tobias Lupin, my son.”

Dean smiles, an almost sad expression. “And Teddy’s?”

She tenses. “Yeah, and Teddy’s.”

He gives her a job—the same station as when she was twenty, only now it’s not her same wild pink chair, it’s a standard black vinyl. Dean says he’ll buy her another pink one and she says she doesn’t plan on being here long enough to warrant a new chair. The look he saddles her with says he doesn’t believe her, but he’s smart enough not to voice that opinion.

Al’s her first customer and he smiles broadly when he lies back against her chair. “This brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

She smiles. “This certainly does.” She pinches his nipple and smoothes a hand against the purple stencil she’s got on his skin before the buzz of the machine vibrates in her hand.

“How old was I when you took my skin’s virginity?”

“Fourteen, I believe.” His smile is bright and she returns it with one of her own. “Now don’t scream or I’ll make it hurt more.”

> Teddy knows every slight he’s ever made, he remembers every hurtful word he’s spoken—an atonement for his sins Gran’s always said, a form of self-punishment Harry always claims. But as he grows older Teddy realises these vivid memories are a way for him to agonise over things he should have said instead.
> 
> Like when Victoire asks him to be her date to the ball, last minute. Her ex just left her for some other bird and she wants to make him jealous—Teddy is “fit, if a bit awkward” and he’ll do perfectly. He was hoping to take Dominique—she’s not mentioned a date but he says yes because she tells him Dominique’s already got someone she’s going with.
> 
> Only that’s not true he finds out, but now he’s already promised Victoire.
> 
> “It’s all right, I’m sure someone will turn up,” Dominique shrugs her shoulders as if she isn’t upset, but he can see it in the tightness around her blue eyes and he wants to tell Victoire to shove off. In fact he plans on it, but come morning Dominique is flirting with her date and Teddy has to mentally hang his head in defeat.
> 
> He allows Victoire to kiss him for show—after he’s seen Dominique sucking face with that twit she calls Marcus or Malcolm or something stupid like that. He sighs into the kiss and Victoire swallows his whispered, “Nikita.”

Teddy comes in one day around noon and hands her a brown sack that smells divine.

“What’s this,” she wonders as she takes it and sets the crumpled paper on the ground next to her station after tossing her gloves in the bin.

“Lunch,” Teddy replies as he settles into her chair. “Louis says you look malnourished.”

“I’m two sizes larger than the last time he saw me,” she grumbles, “I hardly need fattening.”

“Perhaps if you’d smile,” Teddy suggests. “Smiling tends to bring out the colour in your cheeks and you don’t look nearly as horrid.”

She scowls. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to compliment or irritate me, but if you are trying for the latter—it’s working.” Teddy grins and Dominique hates when her own grin forms on her lips. He’s still as infectious as ever.

“See, much better—when you smile you are instantly loads more fun.”

Toby decides to eat dinner at Teddy’s pub one night, after Teddy asks him to, and begs Dominique to join them. Finally Dominique relents—it’s been ages since she’s had a night out and she figures it might as well be with her snot of a son and his idiot of a father.

A band is on and she thinks they’re quite a bit better than the bands Teddy used to have on back in the day. More talent, less loud for the sake of sounding better. She says as much and he cracks a smile at her from across the table. She ignores the tremble in her stomach and looks over her menu.

“You’ve finally got some booths in here,” she comments after she speaks her order to her menu.

“That’s more of your brother’s doing than mine—he’s a horrible wanker.”

Dominique laughs. “You say this as if I don’t know—I did grow up with him.” She lifts her lager and takes a pull before she sets the glass down and raises an eyebrow at Teddy, “Why did you hire him? Last I recall you didn’t much like him.”

Teddy looks like he doesn’t want to say, but he settles for truthful. “Victoire asked me to do him a favour—he’s burned a lot of bridges and he’s practically family.”

She pretends it doesn’t bother her when the food arrives and she smiles brightly at Toby when he starts digging in with little grace. He’s having the cod and chips and Dominique is glad to see he’s enjoying it—she couldn’t get him to eat fish to save her life when they were in New York. A quick glance at Teddy’s dish shows her why their son is so open to trying new things—he’s trying to be like his father. She’s not sure she likes that idea.

> He didn’t plan on it happening like this—in a graveyard, in the cold, with hardly any finesse. He’s always believed Dominique is worth more than a cheap shag, but that’s what he’s given her, isn’t it—a cheap shag over his gran’s grave and fuck if that doesn’t make him feel guilty.
> 
> She’s sleeping in his bed, in this little flat he’s leased for the year, and her hair is on his pillow—bright and soft and oh so lovely. Teddy reaches out a hand to touch it and sighs with contentment. No matter how she came here, Teddy knows this is where she belongs.
> 
> Dominique’s eyes flutter open when he whispers, “Nikita” and she presses against him when he leans over her to kiss her. She’s lissom and eager as she moves to return his affections.
> 
> Soon her hand is against him—his cock hardening in her palm as he gasps into their kiss.
> 
> “Fuck me, Teddy,” there is desperation in her eyes even as her voice is confident and steady. He knows, somewhere, what she wants—what she needs but the raw ache in his heart makes him put up his defences as he pulls her into his lap. He’s not strong enough to face the possibility of eventually disappointing her with his clumsy attempt to love—the physical will surely be easier.
> 
> “All night,” he whispers in a voice full of husk and need.
> 
> “Ah, ah, ah,” she pants against his ear as she rides him—her long fingers gripping his neck and hair. His hands are against her arse, holding her close and tight telling her to take him deeper.
> 
> “Keep going, Nikita,” he groans. “So beautiful—so tight.”
> 
> Teddy moves one of his hands up her spine, loving the knots with a whisper of his fingertips as his hand moves to settle against her slim neck—fingers tangling in her hair.
> 
> She might have said it—he’s not sure if it was an imagining or if it was real. Whichever the case may be all Teddy knows is that when she says ‘I love you,’ he comes.

It wasn’t as if they both planned this—this is the way things have always been. Since that fateful moment over a grave and she’s almost sure this is the way things will always be between she and Teddy.

Toby’s off to school and now there is only them and when they know the solitude of each other’s company all they can do is fuck to avoid the words they want to say.

Teddy’s hand is tangled in her long hair and he pulls her face up towards him, kissing awkwardly and almost painfully at her mouth as he fucks her from behind—with deep hard thrusts.

She sucks at his tongue, trying to take it deeper into her mouth as her fanny greedily grips at his cock—begging him deeper and he complies. Gripping her tit with his free hand as he fucks her, blindly seeking his pleasure as she begs him to sate her own.  
Hours later, when his sofa is sufficiently sticky and reeks of sex, they flop boneless against the tweed. Panting she stares at the ceiling and trying to calm his breathing he stares at the profile of her face. It is the pleasant afterglow—when she first left she missed these moments the most.

“God damn,” she whispers.

All he says is, “Yeah.”

“Did you miss my sex, Teds? Ruined you for all women, haven’t I?” She’s teasing and light with her tone, knowing that he’ll give her his usual dismissive reply. She believes she needs him to not be changed—Dominique hasn’t got it in her to hope.

“You ruined me the moment I saw you smile,” he says—and she’s taken by surprise.

> Stupidity, Teddy knows the berk well. And he regrets his friendship with the dolt the minute Dominique freezes up before him. He shouldn’t have said those things. He knows, better than anyone, that she is loveable, kissable, keepable. But of course he’d have to go and throw up walls—shutting her out more, making her feel unworthy. All in deflection.
> 
> Usually she smiles, laughs off his temperamental tendencies, and ignores the words. This time is different, he can tell—she’s spoken, “Of course not, Ted. Who could love you?” She’s looking away and she’s not arguing, not like she does when it’s about Bill. He can feel the block of ice that settles in his gut at the realisation he may have finally broken what they’ve got.
> 
> When she doesn’t come round for a few days he goes to look for her. Hoping, praying, needing for her to be in her flat. She’s not, and he’s struck with fear when he notices how bare her home looks.
> 
> In her wardrobe is a pair of boots with his name written in crayon, like in Toy Story, on the sole. He touches the T and clutches the worn brown leather boots to his chest.
> 
> “This way I will always be yours,” she’d said once, not long after their first fuck. “Everywhere I go I’ll always have these boots.” He’d been terribly glib and nonchalant at the time, but inside he’d been soaring and now, as he looks at these boots he tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

It’s not long before Toby discovers them. They aren’t exactly subtle—it’s always been right here, right now with their couplings. They’ve never had a need to hide.

So he falls through the Floo, one afternoon—coming home from school—and finds them sprawled in the floor of Teddy’s living room. Dominique’s nude, riding him reverse cowgirl, and Teddy’s swearing loudly. A litany of “Fuck, god, yes—you’re a filthy fucking whore and I love you for it.” Dominique loves it when he speaks to her that way—it makes the simple act of sex seem filthy and downright wicked. And sex isn’t fun when it’s not filthy.

Then it all stops, with the cold and sudden realisation that their son is standing at the mouth of the hearth staring at his parents with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Wha-,” he starts and begins to shuffle into the direction of the room he keeps at Teddy’s, “What the fuck is this?”

Dominique is scrambling for her top and Teddy is swearing loudly, but not in a pleased sort of way as he too starts looking about for his articles of clothing. This is worse than the many times Al caught them and the few times Uncle Harry had the misfortune of turning up at the wrong moment. So much worse.

They stare at each other sheepishly and try not to voice their worries when Toby’s door slams shut down the corridor.

She lights a fag and Teddy steals it off of her as soon as she’s taken a deep drag. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing.”

“God,” she replies, “I know—I told him this was never going to happen.”

Teddy chuckles in response, “Never say never, my dearest.”

She frowns. “Seriously, Ted, I don’t want him to think we’re going to be a family. It’s a bit late to try and sail that ship now.”

He’s looking at the smoke coiling up from his cigarette while his long fingers stroke at the heavily inked skin on his chest. It’s still mostly bare of hair—Teddy’s lucky he’s not near as furry as the men in her family, most of them balding with more hair on their backs than on their heads. The tattoos aren’t as vibrant as she remembers, but they are still quite fetching. The beating wings of the owl on his shoulder seemed to call her home when she clutched at Teddy’s back, a little under an hour ago. His gentleness surprised her when he had her laid over the edge of the sofa, on his knees, thrusting into her shallow and slow.

“Guess fantastic shags can’t be the foundation of a happily ever after, yeah?” He’s snuffing out the cigarette in an ashtray on the side table and her short spell of staring at Teddy’s skin is broken by his words.

“Yeah,” she whispers. Standing and brushing down her jeans, she tries not to think of how sticky the insides of her thighs feel. She feels dirty and stupid for wanting him.

> He’s had a few girlfriends. Really, he’s tried. He knew after the first year that Dominique wasn’t coming back, not now—not ever and so he’s grown listless while waiting.
> 
> There is one bird, Cheryl—she seems nice, and in love with him. For a time he thinks this will work. His pub’s growing in popularity. The food’s not bad, the bar and live music keep his customers entertained long after they’ve eaten. It’s working—life without Dominique.
> 
> But everything crumbles, with one letter, as he knew it would. It’s from Victoire. About Louis, he’s not been able to keep a job. He’s got an attitude, thinks he’s always right, and is pissed he’s never been given the title of head chef—even after always breaking his bollocks to prove himself.
> 
> Teddy wants to turn away the request, he doesn’t have to play charitable man just because he’s been asked, but then one line catches his eye and he’s mentally consented before he’s had time to write up an “okay”. _Do it for Dominique, please, Teddy._ And how is he supposed to resist a request such as this? He can’t and everyone knows it, everyone but the one person who should know.
> 
> Cheryl and Louis don’t get on and she’s in his ear, telling him he’s a bastard for keeping Louis on, demanding to know what he “owes” Louis. He tells her nothing and she tells him to get rid of him and he stiffly tells her he can’t and that he won’t.
> 
> She’s backing him into a corner mentally and she’s talking about their “plans”. He should have stopped her long ago when she decided to start making blueprints for his life—she’s lovely, he thought he could love her, but now she’s asking him to make a decision. And he’s never been good with decisions, he’s always left them up to the people around him.
> 
> “It’s him or me, Ted—I can’t do this. I won’t be here if you keep him on, he hates me.”
> 
> “Lou hates everyone,” he says with a half-hearted shrug.
> 
> “Choose, Ted,” she’s staring at him with angry green eyes and her mouth is pinched.
> 
> He’s silent and she sucks in a hurt breath. Teddy stares at his scuffed trainers and shoves his hands in his pockets while she storms off. A strained exhale leaves him and he wonders if perhaps he’s just made another large mistake.
> 
> Regrets are things he doesn’t need more of.

Toby’s got one of his long legs pulled up, his chin resting on his knee as he looks at his open scroll blankly. Dominique hovers in the entrance of his room, biting the inside of her cheek wondering how to start this conversation.

He spares her the awkward beginning and says, “I’m going to pretend I don’t know you’ve got _La Petite Mort_ tattooed on your snatch.”

Dominique wears a thin grin when he faces her with his usual crooked smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Toby,” she starts and he shakes his head, silencing her.

“I know, Mum—it’s never going to happen again.” There is a distinctly scornful tone lying in his words.

“Really, Toby—I mean it.”

His eyes are angry and red when he faces her, “Like you weren’t going to date ever again—after all of your crap boyfriends, is it that sort of _never again_ because if so, save your breath for someone who might believe you.”

She’s ready to deny it, but the challenge in his glare stops the denial in her throat. “You’re right—why should you believe me?” She’s hurt him plenty, in the past, with that one simple lie—it’s obvious to her now and she feels like shit.

“Sides,” Toby murmurs after a long, tense silence “What’s so bad about getting on with Dad?”

“Toby-,” he cuts her off before she can give him the usual story she’s given him since he was in nappies. The one about how they didn’t quite love each other enough and beyond being physical they had nothing.

“You’re both not quite so miserable when in each other’s presence. A blind person could see that.” Then he adds, “And at least Teddy wouldn’t try to run me off so he could have kids with you—make you a proper wife and shit.”

She frowns. “I’m assuming Daniel was telling you he and I are going to make a nice family without you?” Stupid buggering fuck buddy that guy, she thinks as she watches Toby. He shrugs but she can tell he is bothered by the thought of some bloke making her not love him, of some bloke pushing him out, and there is no way that will _ever_ be true.

Dominique moves over to his chair and tells him to budge up. He does so without complaint and she pats her lap, Toby looks at her doubtfully and she pulls him until he is sitting heavily on her denim covered thighs. “I love you—and no wanker is _ever_ going to make me shove you out. I don’t care if he’s got the cock of a god—you are my son.”

“Ew, Mum—I don’t want to know about Daniel’s cock.” He wrinkles his nose.

She snorts. “Promise it wasn’t all that wonderful.”

He hugs her and rests his cheek against her thin shoulder while she breathes in his smell—it’s a comfort to know while he grew up some things haven’t changed. “Then why’d you stay with him?”

Dominique combs her tattoo covered fingers through his hair, rocking him as best she can despite the fact the chair is solid and Toby is too heavy for her to manoeuvre him properly. Then she lays a soft, barely there kiss against his cheek and says, “Sometimes people get lonely.” She steadily avoids adding that all of her “boyfriends” where a way to fill that gaping void Teddy’d left in her—and by pretending she could make it with them she wouldn’t break down and go back to the place she wanted. The place where she and Teddy would fuck, not speak, and royally fuck up as they bumbled through life. She hadn’t wanted that for Toby. But she got lonely—she was human, after all.

“You had me,” he whispers, like he often did when he was small and another of her shite boyfriends was packing up and taking off. It was always worse when Toby liked them and even now she regrets making him suffer through every bad decision. There were so many things she’d do different if she had the chance.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” she whispers.

Now that he’s older he can understand what she’s implying. “They have dildos for a reason, Mum.”

She laughs, but there is hardly any mirth in the cracking sound.

“So,” he ventures, “I’m supposed to suffer through more shit boyfriends and possibly through Dad’s shit girlfriends and watch you both fuck up your lives?”

“You want me to get with your dad?”

He shrugs, “I may look grown—but still, every kid wants to see their parents happy and together.” Dominique begins to cry, she knows the truth of that statement well enough. Most of her childhood all she had wanted was for her mother and father to kiss and smile the way Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny did—she didn’t like them being broken, and she’s sorry she’s made Toby suffer the same pain.

> The moment the boy walks into the pub Teddy’s gaze is drawn to him. He’s an innocent, all wide blue eyes and pale hair, with anxious glances about the place and hopeful grins anytime he notices someone is looking his way. This kid is waiting to be recognised. Teddy’s just not sure why yet, but he’s determined to find out.
> 
> He sees her in him from that first moment—it’s as obvious as the pieces of himself he finds.

Teddy’s Floo is open, always has been, and she finds relief in the fact some things never change. His door is ajar, lights spills into the darkened hall from the glow of a candle on his bedside table. Boldly she pushes into his bedroom. His irises are a the colour of changing leaves and they speak of memories being remembered as they shift to the brittle brown of leaves in winter before shifting slowly to the colour of new life—pale green that speaks of beginnings and hope.

“I keep thinking-,” he says then stops and she waits, leaning against the doorjamb her hands behind her back griping the cold wood. “I keep wishing,” he amends. “I keep wishing that if I could go back, if I could change one stupid mistake—just one...”

Dominique wants to look away, because she’s afraid of what that stupid mistake is—she wonders if he’s implying Toby is that mistake. But how could he, Teddy loves the boy—it’s obvious when he wears that fond expression. She cannot stop looking at his changing eye colour—the green is deeper now than Uncle Harry’s and Al’s. Dominique can feel her heart beating in her throat while she waits.

“I’d tell you I love you,” he says with a chuckle, but it is more sad than happy.

“Is that all,” she wonders with her own broken laugh.

“No,” he murmurs. “I’d ask you to marry me—properly, on a knee, in a tie, at some posh restaurant we both hate.”

She grins, and a real sound of happiness escapes her throat, “If you propose in an awfully stiff restaurant does that mean when we get home I can make you get on your knees and lead you by your tie?”

His crooked smile appears the one she’d love to eat. “Of course, why do you think I’d purposefully annoy you like that? It’s purely selfish. And maybe then,” his smile slips, “I’d get to be a proper dad, good and loving and the less severe one of us two.”

“It’s never too late to start,” she says, trying to hope—to believe in Teddy once again.

He is on her then, pinning her to the wall, with warm fingers pushing beneath the hem of her shirt. And somehow it’s better than she can recall, it’s not urgent yet it is still laced with their usual desperation.

“I love you,” he says—over and over, making up for all the times he couldn’t bring himself to say it—rocking into her with sure, measured thrusts.

“I love you, Ted.” She replies between each wet kiss. While arching against him, wanting him as deep as he can be—her hands are in his vibrant hair and she pulls him closer to whisper sweet truths against his lips.

Tomorrow she’ll tell Toby and Teddy they’ve got to get a bigger flat and new furniture. Teddy’s had that tweed sofa forever and she’s pretty certain it was his gran’s from before the war. She’ll also need to tell Dean to order her that pink chair she’s been avoiding—it’s time to replant her roots.

End


End file.
